The Definition of Human
by Anti-canon
Summary: Derek's never met a Stitch quite like Stiles. He's never met a boy quite like Stiles.
1. A Touch of Destiny

**A/N: Teen Wolf/Push Fusion-ish. Set after the events of the movie. In my mind, an X-Men like civil war breaks out among the "specials" and breaks them all down into factions. The Hale family wants revenge on the humans who subjugated them. Stiles, Lydia, Isaac, and Allison just want their names out of the Division database so they can disappear.**

**I dunno. Just sorta happened one night. Might continue it if anyone shows interest. As of right now it's just a bunch of random headcanons. :P Isaac's a Watcher, Lydia's a Bleeder, Allison's a Pusher, Stiles is a Stitch, and Derek's a Mover. For anyone curious.**

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Like practically every Mover you've ever met, he's all brute force. Disciplined body, but not skills, not mind. They're all so very unimaginative, throwing pulses with their punches, blasting blunt objects across the room to close the space, throwing you into solid structures. When he waltzes through the door, pushing aside the plastic sheeting with a calm smirk and stolid eyes, you feel like you can see every move he's going to make. Technically that's Isaac's area of expertise, but his approach lacks a little… heat for this kind of encounter. You can see him usher Lydia and Allison to a back corner of the room, giving them both stern looks when they scoff, and afterwards they give up little fight.

The Mover raises an amused eyebrow when they leave you exposed, sizing you up— and from the way he rolls his shoulders, cracks his knuckles, bounces from foot to foot and chuckles—finds you… lacking. You give him a saccharine smile in return, flexing your fingers, and stepping slowly, foot over foot, sideways. He's approximately fifteen feet away—two tables and ten chairs between you both. He rolls up his sleeves, wipes at his nose, and exposes the triskele inked, front and center, on his right forearm. He's a Hale then, come to defend his territory. Should've waited for back-up.

In the space of a second, he drops into a half-crouch, adjusts his center of gravity, and throws a right hook, the air in the room sucking in sharply before exploding out from his fist. You take a breath, lick your lips, and leap, watching the technicolor halo bouncing off the blow's edge and using it to gauge its radius. The blast skims right past, ruffling your clothes before crashing into the support beam just behind you, buckling the cement. Twelve feet.

Surprise registers across his face for only a second, only a slight widening of those sea-green eyes, before his features harden and he steps forward again, stance solid, unrelenting, as he pitches a roundhouse kick, followed immediately by an uppercut that sends a table tumbling end over end. You spin, balanced on a single toe, narrowly avoiding the concentrated spiral sent from the point of his foot, and drop, sliding, on your knees. The leg of the table catches your temple, tearing long and ugly, but low enough to keep from your eyes. Six feet.

He snarls, lips curling back from his teeth—feral. Sore loser you suppose. You take the time to smile and laugh, wiping blood away with the back of your sleeve, before you stand. "What's-a matter big guy? Never played in the major leagues?" He bristles, visibly, but for the first time seems to register a hint of doubt. Too late, but still. Nice to see. " 'S okay. You still got one strike… Think you can hit me out of the park?" It's probably time to let go of the metaphor, but hey, you're having fun.

He punches out a quick three-step move before rearing back, roaring like the animal they've made him, and throwing both fists to the floor. It's easy enough to dance through the three small pulses, all of them crashing into the mirrored ceiling at the end of the room, but the shockwave following straight through catches your feet, and as you jerk forward, you can see the triumphant sneer blossom across his face.

It last all of two seconds before you catch yourself on your hands and spring forward, artfully tumbling across the last of the distance. You stand at your full height, grinning from ear to ear, as his eyes widen and his face goes blank, inches apart. All you have to do is press two fingers to his jaw, tip it forward, to place a quick kiss, and then his whole frame tenses up. Black veins snake out from the pad of your index, outlined in a raw red, and spread across his body. His muscles start to seize and then convulse and he falls to the floor, gasping and writhing. He'll be fine enough in a week, but still, you frown demurely and turn to pout at Isaac.

"But this one's so sweet! Are you sure I can't go a little easier on him? I mean, _look _at this body. It's practically a crime to damage such precious goods." Both he and Lydia roll their eyes and step over the debris, heading through the now unguarded entrance without so much as a backward glance. Allison at least has the decency to hide a smile beneath her hand and pat you on the back.

"C'mon Stiles, there'll be time enough for flirting later." She peers through the plastic, waiting a handful of seconds before pulling you in close and biting her lip nervously. "Don't let Isaac know I told you, but you'll see him again. Sooner rather than later. He's _seen _it."

Vibrating with excitement, you give her a hug before crouching down and running a hand through the Mover's impressively soft hair. "Hey, hey!" You snap your fingers in front of his face to get his attention, and though you can see it's hard for him to focus, he's not gone catatonic yet. "Look, I—or rather you—only have a few second left, so here it is." You try your best to smile gently despite the adrenaline coursing through every inch of your body, and lean in real close. "This was fun. We should do it again… Naked."

You can't tell if he's appalled, but he doesn't say no, so you take what you can get. With a final, somewhat patronize pat to the head, you stand, and pick your way after the others. If Isaac's seen it, you know it'll happen.

It has to.


	2. Unwitting Encounter

**A/N: More from my Push AU because kaleidomusings and I have very similar Allison feels and she just understands how much I love Push and how rude it's lack of impact is.**

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Getting into someone's head—it's not all smoke and mirrors, illusion and allure, like they want you to believe. It's visceral. It tears at them and their psyche. You rip through their memories, their hopes and dreams, the core of their being, and supplant it all with your own ideas, with a cancerous, warped version of your own truth. It makes you wonder if the heads of Division knew just how accurate they were when they labeled you Pushers— or if they thought the over simplification, the juvenile monikers would distance themselves, and the public, from the reality of the situation.

Either way, they knew you were dangerous, and that's what you choose to focus on. They're afraid of you—of what you can do, of your raw potential, of your fury. You never thought you'd be this kind of person, that you'd be pushed this far, that your life could be so… raw. Yet, standing against the wall of windows, looking out across the smog choked cityscape, you feel at home in your skin, like you never have before.

Isaac's sitting on a crate just to your left, leg nervously shaking as he chews his nails and watches the door with an intensity you know all too well. You're here because of what he's seen, and now you're just waiting for that vision to come through. Whatever it was, he wouldn't discuss it, only said both you and he needed to be here.

He plays everything close to his chest, only shares when and where and how, if it's utterly necessary. It used to frustrate you… Now you're just happy not to have to share the burden. He's always got sallow cheeks, hollow eyes—off days, weeks, maybe even years ahead, so very rarely present. But now, here, all that matters is what's coming through that door, and you pace back and forth, determined on being prepared.

You can feel that familiar head rush, the intoxication thrumming thick through your veins as you let your power build, pulsing through your body and building just behind your eyes, sitting heavy on your tongue. It itches and writhes to be let out, to push itself on someone else and take over. The handle on the door clicks, rattles, and your heart skips a beat. You draw in a breath, step forward… and stop.

He's a Hale—the mark is clear and present as ever, both a warning and a ward—but this one is different. He's not wild like the others you've come across, teetering on the edge of feral, and whether it's an act or not, there's no menace behind his eyes. His body language is… open, accepting, and you don't know how to react.

All the pent up energy fizzles without the intent and conviction. It leaves you feeling… bare. You step back, cross your arms in front of you, and turn to look at Isaac. His eyes are on the floor, his shoulders sagged, his hands twitching useless at his sides. Now that the waiting's over, it seems he's spent. Whatever this event means, it's taken more out of him than you've ever seen, and you step between him and this stranger.

"I don't know why you're here—I don't even know why I'm here, but it's something important…. you're someone important." His gaze switches from Isaac to you, his eyes turn from concerned to curious, and he… smiles. He takes a step forward, but when he sees you tense, freezes in place. "Isaac's never wrong, he always makes sure before he makes plans. What do you have that's worth the risk?"

He smiles crookedly, offset and emphasizing by his crooked jaw... It's disarming. You hate it. "I didn't even know you were going to be here." He looks you up and down, with what he probably thinks is subtlety, and closes the door behind him. "Happy surprise."

You roll your eyes and shake Isaac's shoulder, turning your back on the Hale even though it makes your spine itch uncomfortably. "Isaac, he doesn't know shit. I'd ask if you were sure, but I'd really prefer not to be on the receiving end of that tirade again." Isaac looks up at you, chews his lips, and then back at him. He lets out a heavy sigh, stands, and walks to the door.

"This is it. This is all we needed." He takes a long, lingering look at the both of you, and smiles, quiet. "See you around Scott."

Your fingers itch and the adrenaline hasn't left your system, but it seems there's nothing to do about. At least not for now. You scowl first at Isaac's retreating form, and then at Scott when he blocks your exit. "Apparently I have what I need." You move to shoulder around him, but he grabs your elbow and pulls you back.

In the space of a second you throw him up against the doorframe and let the blackness swarm, thrumming through your eyes and rolling off your tongue. **"Step. Away. Let. Me. Go. SIT!** " His body snaps to attention at your command, and his eyes widen as it complies against his will. Lips pulled back, showing your teeth, you pull a knife from its sheath on your thigh and put it to his throat. "**You will ****_not _****touch me again. You will ask my express permission before you even ****_move_**_**.**__" _You breathe deep to keep yourself from doing anything in haste, and stare deep into his frantic eyes. "**Understand ?** "

He nods slowly, carefully, and chokes as you press the steel tighter before stepping away. With one last, warning snarl, you let the power slip, and watch as he slumps, like a puppet with cut strings. Upon the retreat from his mind, your mouth fills with the sharp tang of stomach acid and a sweat breaks across your forehead.

You turn and run before he can see.


End file.
